


Broken

by Nevi



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-29
Updated: 2012-12-05
Packaged: 2017-11-19 20:55:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/577551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevi/pseuds/Nevi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A broken Shepard coming to terms with a world her choices left behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for this prompt on MEK:
> 
> "After bidding Garrus goodbye, Shepard never knew if she'd see him again. Over the course of ME3, events slowly made her crack and break until, by the time she's in the Crucible surrounded by piles of dead bodies and covered in her own blood, the tears refuse to stop. She thinks she's going to die.
> 
> She doesn't. She has the Cerberus implants to thank for that.
> 
> But with the relays blown and the Normandy gone, Shepard has nothing left. Nothing. Her job is done, Garrus is gone and may be dead, so she has nothing to hold onto except the memories of the dead that PTSD constantly shoves in her face. One day she started crying, and she's never stopped.
> 
> She is never not suicidal, but couldn't bear the shame if she went through it. She's supposed to be a hero.
> 
> Give me a metric shitton of angst. Self harm, suicidal ideation, PTSD to the max. Realistically the events of ME would have broken just about everyone involved. So break her. Break the shit out of Shepard.
> 
> (But a nice H/C happy ending wouldn't go amiss. :D Up to anon.)"
> 
> Originally posted: June 27, 2012

She’s dying; she knows it like she knows the air in her lungs and the adrenaline of battle. Every movement, every word is her last. She accepts it, has accepted it for so long; an ever present weight on her shoulders. But she has already been dead and she remembers nothing of it, it is a nothing more than a hole in her memory; a hole that was filled with other stories and adventures that she will never fully know. She knows when she is dead again it will be the same. The actions she takes will ensure that there will be more stories and adventures, more heroes and villains and that is why she continues to bare the weight of her death while still holding her head high.

So she takes every breath with meaning, every touch of her lover with reverence and slowly suckles every last memory, holding onto each moment like the precious treasure it is.

When she lies with Garrus that last time, on the eve of her death, she traces every scar on his body with her finger tips and lips. Committing each one to a memory that will never be recalled by her again, and when she says her final good-bye as she forces him on to the Normandy, a ship she has so many memories tied to, who’s halls will never carry her voice again; she again uses all her power to sear the colour of his eyes into her mind and his voice to her heart as he says the words he never needed to say, words that make her heart lighter of the load it carries, words she thinks she would give anything to be able to hear again.

And she does give everything. She tells herself it’s the ruthless calculus of war when she weighs the choices presented, but it’s that small glimmer of hope that makes the shots, its words that she so desperately wants to hear again.

Her lungs are on fire, scorching heat rolling over her body and the smell of burnt flesh and hair is overwhelming, she’s choking on the burning smell and every rattling cough sends another wave of flame through her chest. She attempts to move and every nerve ending screams in a chorus of horror and she can’t stop the rolling blackness from covering her mind and she knows this is it. The colour she desperately drags with her into the night is blue, the beautiful colour of his eyes.

* * *

It’s a steady sound that she is aware of, a steady hum that seems too familiar yet foreign like watching a remake of a favorite movie. She lets that sound tangle in her mind, some faint memory she doesn’t care to remember. There is also material and warmth, other vague memories tugging her forward out of the darkness, pushing her through the suffocating night.

She ignores the gentle movement of her limbs, the brush of fabric along her torso and face. She desperately clings to the darkness, she tries to hide from the pin prick of light that is moving towards her, far too quickly a violently to be anything good.

 _Please, please just let me hold on his memory; please don’t take it from me._ She is staring out over Alchera holding onto a broken airline in vain, the soft white clouds of stolen breath taunting her eyes. Heat, heat is engulfing her form. _No, no space is cold._ Those clouds of breath are filling her vision, getting brighter and brighter until the white consumes her, the steady sound; her heart beat she realises vaguely is broken by some other noise, a horrible gut-wrenching wail that turns the sudden scorching heat to ice. _No, no, no…_

A new colour joins the spectrum, blue. She sees it through the build-up of ice collecting in her lashes; she forces her eyes to look at it, to look through the painful white light engulfing her. Blue, she always liked blue. She follows it.


	2. Chapter 2

Everything is too shiny, too clean, that horrible wailing sound is suddenly louder in her ears, trembling through her body and rattling through her mind.

“Shepard!” A voice, she recognizes that voice. “Shepard, you have to calm down or… nurse, sedative.”

“No” it’s a choking sound, rough and thick.

She is vaguely aware the wailing has stopped, replaced by the steady beeps of the electronics hooked into her body.

A pale woman stands over her, dark hair flowing long around her shoulders, blue eyes penetrating into her from beneath furrowed brows.

“While it’s good to see you awake, it would be helpful if you kept the screaming to a minimum.” Her voice is stern, but light and a small look of relief is pulling at her lips and eyes.

An unintelligible response leaves her lips and every unheard word flowing from her mouth tugs at her mind. Her thoughts feel incoherent like someone has poured ryncol straight into her brain, and when the pale woman suggests she get some rest she can’t help but comply.

* * *

The dream is darker this time, more shadows move through the dead trees, they surround her, move through her with a chill that she feels right to the bone. What they once whispered is now screams, screams of hundreds, thousands, too many dead by her actions, voices accusing.

...Shepard...

...Shepard-Commander...

...Siha...

Black tendrils begin to wrap around her throat and she tries to run only to trip and collapse into soft mud a slick pop is heard as she pulls herself up to turn around and see what caused her fall, the earth not wanting to release its newest catch. A scream tears through her as she sees at her feet the body of the man she loves, hollow eyes baring into her, the once beautiful gleaming plates of his face are dull and broken, cyan blood painting a grizzly picture upon his features, mandibles hang slack at unnatural angles.

Her mouth tastes of dirt as a hand flies to her lips, eyes wide. The earth suddenly lurches beneath her and she finds herself being pulled under. The moving shadows gather in closer until she can no longer see his body, until she can no longer see anything at all.

The sheets are damp, her body covered in slick perspiration, the hard thud in her chest causing her to grip the linen tightly to her breast in a desperate attempt to hold her heart in. It has been six months since the citadel, since her choice, since her death.

But she wasn’t dead, Cerberus implants made sure of that, kept her heart and brain alive when she was tossed through hell, and had it been any other soul, she’d have been committed to the ground. Her mouth still tasted of dirt and she swung her form to the side of bed, phantom pain radiating through her as she reaches for the wheelchair that’s parked to the side. A rough sound escapes her lips as she lowers herself into the old fashioned contraption.

Stabilized; that was what they called her now. Miranda had told her it had been touch and go in the beginning but that she figured, once things settled down; that Shepard could make a full recovery.

_“When resources aren’t so scarce Shepard, I can rebuild your leg.” She’d stated. Shepard knew she’d done it before, brought her back from the dead. But she simply looked down at the rough stump and the area where her knee and calf had once been._

_“No, Miranda. You won’t” she kneaded the still sore flesh tenderly. She remembers the way Miranda’s perfect eyebrow rose in question, but she avoided pushing it further. It was a trait Shepard always liked about her former XO._

She wheels herself into the small private bathroom her quarters has been graced with. She is both thankful and embarrassed by the way the Alliance is treating her, hiding her away from prying eyes of the galaxy; the savior, the adversary, kept under guard on the _Cambridge._

She avoids looking in the mirror as she pours herself water. She has gotten good at avoiding her reflection. The bandages that once covered half her face and torso are now gone, in their place the dark pink tissue of angry scars. Her hair is beginning to grow, shaved to the skin during the brutal surgeries her body went through. She secretly likes the feel of soft stubble under her finger tips when she runs a hand over her scalp.

The water is cool on her tongue and it washes away the taste of dirt lingering from the dream. When she finishes in the bathroom she wheels herself to the small window in the room. Out it she can see Earth below the orbiting ship. The red of still burning fires has been growing smaller every day; it is one of the few things giving her peace these days. If she looks to the horizon she can see the fleet still in orbit, the turian dreadnoughts and quarian frigates sitting among the silent geth dropships and dead reapers.

The reaper ships taunt her eyes, and she can feel the biting pressure of her nails digging into the flesh of her palm as stinging bile rises up her throat. She swallows her fury when the door to her quarters makes the small pinging sound and swoosh of someone entering. A heavy hand lands on her shoulder as the visitor stands silently with her, looking over the scene.

He clears his throat before he speaks. “I have some news Commander.”

Her heart clenches in her chest. She fears what words may spill from his lips more than anything she has ever faced, and she finds her hand gripping his at her shoulder in silent terror.

It has been six months since the end of the war, since the synthetics went silent and the initial roaring cheer of organics died down as realisation hit, of what the war had cost; and in mourning the galaxy began to rebuild the broken races. It has only been three months since Shepard gained consciousness.

Three short months to mourn her lost ship, her lost crew, her lost family, her lost love. Days and nights spent spilling every previously hidden tear until her body is screaming in dehydration and her eyes stare blankly at the emptiness. Admiral Hackett had told her they were actively searching for them, for the Normandy. But she knew the relays were the priority, getting all those who helped them fight the final battle home safely. She knew what little resources were being spent working on fixing them, not finding one lost ship among many.

It is a phantom snake clinging at her mind, at her throat and chest constricting until she can’t breathe, its whispering tongue telling her they are dead. They are dead while she breathes, its lies, its truths settling into her heart. Every waking moment is spent clutching to the fading feel of his touch, the dulling colour of his eyes. Every night the too vivid colour of his blood and rotting flesh burns itself more vibrantly into her mind. She wants to join him, dreams where the soft mud doesn’t suck her down. Dreams where she lies beside his corpse, clinging desperately to the disappearing form until nothing is left but empty broken armour, it’s always then that she finds it; the Carnifex, her favorite pistol. It bites into her from the dirt, and it is always too clean, too pristine, and every time she finds it in her hand, its barrel digging cold metal in her temple.


	3. Chapter 3

The relays are active again she is told, and the next few days she watches as the ally ships leave the Earth’s orbit. After a week there are only a few stragglers left in the reaper graveyard. There is still no news of the Normandy.

It’s almost eight months since the Catalyst when Admiral Hackett approaches her again. He asks her about what happened with the Crucible and the Citadel. She remains silent, eyes down cast. He doesn’t press her, he never does and for that she is eternally grateful. But she knows they won’t allow her to stay silent and hidden forever. She spends the next week in bed, caught between fitful dreams and reality.

One night the dream changes, she sits under a blue sky, soft grass beneath her bare feet. A man with silver hair dancing through dark locks sits beside her. A warm breeze caresses her skin, and she pulls her knees tighter to her chest. She only looks at him through the corner of her eye when he speaks too her.

“You can’t keep blaming yourself Commander.”

“They are all gone, all of them” She whispers.

“You don’t know that, not for certain”

“You’re gone” A choked sob escapes her throat.

“Commander – “He doesn’t argue with her though, instead he puts an arm around her shoulders and pulls her to his chest. When the tears spill down her cheeks he brushes a hand through her hair. “You have to let us go.”

“You look older…” She mumbles into his shoulder.

He laughs, and for the first time in a long while her heart feels a fraction lighter. He twirls a lock of her hair around his finger and sighs. “He’s coming for you, you know.”

“Kaidan, I - I’m sorry”

She awakes to the all too familiar damp pillow, there are no long locks spilt upon it, her leg still gone just above the knee.

That day she leaves her room.

She sits silently in the crew mess, all too aware of eyes on her. But every time she lifts her head to look at them, their eyes are averted. When she finishes her meal, she wheels herself out to the sound of muffled whispers.

That following night she dreams she is on a beach, the sand squishes between her toes as the cold water licks at her ankles. The sky is a kaleidoscope of colour, the roar of the ocean loud in her ears. 

“Siha” A warm resonating voice behind her.

She does not have to look at him to know his face. 

“Thane” It is barely more than a whisper.

“Look at me, Siha”

She doesn’t turn, she can’t. A slim hand cups her jaw and softly forces her face to him. Bright irises hidden by dark orbs look into her with such intensity she has to close her eyes.

“I was dying long before I met you.” His voice is rich and melodic “I am now home, Siha”

“With me” The new voice forces her eyes to look at Thane’s companion, she had not noticed her before and she is as beautiful as he’d said, her slender arm wraps around his waist and Shepard can see the smile in both their eyes, tugging at their full mouths and Shepard throws her arms around them both. Clutching to Thane and his wife as a sob wracks through her body; they calmly both wrap an arm around her and let her cry.

A week later she gets an unexpected visitor.


	4. Chapter 4

“Holy shit, I thought you were dead.”

Hard brown eyes stare at her, full lips quirked in a sarcastic grin. “Then again, maybe you are. You look like hell Shepard” 

“It’s nice to see you too, Jack” She mumbles as she smoothly wheels herself away from the window. 

Jack saunters over to a chair tucked into the corner of the room. “So why the fuck did I have to hear a rumour that you’re alive from some Alliance pussy?” She asks as she plops herself down letting her legs hang over an armrest. 

“You really come here just on a rumour, Jack?”

There’s a glint in the biotic’s eye “I may have had to press some bitches”

Shepard wants to laugh, but instead she just quietly shakes her head. Jack is looking at her like a thousand questions may spring from her mouth at any moment, so she is thoroughly surprised by what she says instead.

“No one blames you Shepard.”

Hard knots tighten in her chest and it’s like she’s forgotten to breathe. Jack has shifted in her chair, feet flush with the ground, hands clasped between her knees. Shepard just stares at her with wide eyes. The biotic looks past her out the window.

“I know better than anyone what you’re going through, and someone once told me to get a hold of myself, it’ll be okay.”

A huff leaves Shepard’s lips “When did you become queen of the girl scouts, Jack?” 

A smile creeps along Jack’s features “Shit, Shepard. I learned from the best”

* * *

That night she dreams of shadows among the trees again, but this time she notices that there are fewer voices and rather than tripping over the body of her lover, she stumbles up to a familiar platform.

“Shepard-Commander” Its flashlight eye looks at her, head cocked to the side. The soft whirring of electronics permeates the air as the metal flaps that constitute its face move up and down.

When she awakes; she still hears Legion’s voice in her head. “The Geth understand your choice. It was the most logical”

She goes through her morning with a heavy heart.


	5. Chapter 5

Every day becomes a little easier, but she still refuses to speak of what happened upon the Citadel. Though the next time Admiral Hackett visits he tells her they are planning celebrations for the one year anniversary. She agrees to be there when he asks her to be a dignitary, and when she tucks her slowly growing hair behind an ear and asks if he can find her a crew placement on the ship he readily agrees.

The next few weeks leading to anniversary, she spends as a co-ordinator on the _Cambridge._ Wheeling herself up and down the CIC in crisp uniform linens, no one questions her presence and she finds relief that the once ever present whispers behind her are becoming less and less.

On the eve of the celebration she looks at herself in the mirror. Over the months and year she had avoided this very sight. Now she finds she can’t look away. She traces her finger tips along the scar tissue peppering the left side of her face from brow to jaw. She thinks of him. Wonders what he would think of her now. If he would even still love her, or if he would just see a broken woman and walk away. She thinks of the dream with the pistol. They still won’t provide her with any side arms or weapons.

She tries to remember with clarity the colour of his eyes and the feel of his hide beneath her finger tips, all that dances before her eyes is the colour of his blood and rotting flesh. She doesn’t know how Hackett plans to present her as a hero to the crowd the next day. All she can see is a drowning woman, desperately trying to keep her head above water because some glimmer of hope is forcing her to. Muscle memory allowing each day to seem simpler.

She leans on a cane as she hobbles on her newly acquired artificial limb. It pinches into the soft flesh of her thigh as she makes her way to the balcony overlooking the London streets; the area is clear of the rubble and rotting husks. A cool breeze blows and her teeth chatter lightly. The stars are out in full force, and under the light of street posts she can see people walk along newly paved roads. She sees a Salarian and Asari walking together, and the song of an old friend whispers through her mind and she can’t help but smile. A single tear rolls down her cheek and she hopes tonight will be a dream with less shadows and more friendly faces she can say good-bye too.


	6. Chapter 6

She is walking along the crew deck of the Normandy; the main battery is in her sights. She pauses at the door, a sudden fear gripping her with un-expectable fury. Before she can turn and flee the door opens and he’s there in front of her.

Her heart feels as though it is being crushed in her chest. His plates glimmer in the artificial light, his armour gleaming in silver and blue, he stands over her on his digitigrade legs, piercing blue eyes meeting hers. His mandibles flare in happy surprise and he reaches for her with a talon hand, running it thru her tresses.

“Shepard.” It sounds like a sigh of relief, and before he can say more she has her arms wrapped around him.

“Garrus - ” She chants his name like a prayer, hot tears building in her eyes and spilling down her cheeks. She can see the rivets of water roll down his armor and she grips him even tighter.

He tenderly lifts her chin and presses his lip plates to her mouth. The smooth warmth radiates thru her body to her core.

“I – I missed you, I missed you so damn much” she mumbles into his mouth as she grips to him even tighter.

“It’s okay, I’m here now” His hands grip either side of her jaw, thumbs brushing away tears as they fall heavy on her face.

Her fingers find their way to the back of his neck running trails down the plates there, and digging into the softer exposed hide.

His tongue finds its way to the curve of her neck, leaving trails along her jaw and collar bone. His head raises back up and his forehead meets hers with soft pressure. “Look at me, Shepard”

She wipes the liquid from her eyes.

He whispers her given name, “Look at me.”

Her eyes flutter open to a dark room, a cold breeze is blowing through the left open balcony doors. She reaches for the blankets to pull them closer when her hand brushes something hard and warm, there is a movement beside the bed, and she can’t help the scream that erupts from her throat when she finds two eyes looking back at her.

A talon presses softly on her lips and the scent of gun oil, and metal, and something else that makes her think of freshly cut grass fills her senses. It’s a smell of home. She watches him with wide eyes as he moves his fingers to brush against her scars.

“Hmmm, I see you got some new ones to match mine.” A soft chuckle escapes his throat as he lets his hand trail down her neck to rest between her breasts. He lets it linger there and she raises her hand to intertwine her five digits with his three. Their hands entwined, feeling the steady beat of her heart in her chest.

A pregnant silence washes over them. So many questions, so many words, so much time between them, and none of it seems to matter as she crushes her lips into the smooth pliable plates of his mouth, relishing the taste of his tongue. He pushes her deeper into the bed as he hooks a talon hand into her hip, not lessening his grip as his other hand runs up her waist and hooks under the camisole she wore to bed. She helps him lift it over her head and throws it to side. Her back arches into his kneading hand at her breast and a soft moan escapes her lips as his palm is replaced by his tongue as it rolls soft circles around the hard peak. A rumbling sound emanates from his chest as she stokes his fringe and digs her nails into the soft hide of his neck, her body bucking towards him with every caress and lick.

It’s not long before she can feel all of him beneath her finger tips, soft hide and smooth plates that dimple beneath her finger tips. His talons linger on the stump of her leg briefly before they reach under her and grip her hips, lifting her to him. He moves in slow strokes until he’s buried in her to the hilt. They lay like that for a moment and he buries his face in her neck, while she feels her inner muscles clench around him in desperation.

“I missed you” He breathes into her skin, his dual-toned voice resonating through her flesh and causing goose bumps along the exposed skin.

Her voice catches in her throat as he resumes his movement above her. She finds his hand with hers and laces her fingers with his as they move together on the bed. Her thighs dig into the soft hide of his waist as she rocks against him; her body clenches around him, molds to his form, nails digging into hide, lips peppering kisses along his plates and hide as she rides out her climax with a soft moan. She feels as he follows with her.

When he finally rolls off and relaxes in beside her on the bed, strong, sinewy arms wrap around her and she can feel the warmth of him settle over her. She can feel his breath caress her skin and a mandible flicks against her cheek as he whispers in her ear. “I’ll always love you, Shepard”

She buries her face in his chest so he can’t see the tears that fall freely from her eyes, her arms clinging desperately around him, never wanting to let go. “I love you, Garrus” she chokes out, emotion wracking thru her body. His arms brace around her tighter until sleep takes them.


	7. Chapter 7

She awakes to her guard detail knocking at the door. She isn’t given time to think about the turian that seems to be missing from her bed as she’s whisked away to the event. As she sits on the stage watching over the crowd gathered she searches for him, her eyes searching for blue in a rainbow of colour. She doesn’t listen to the others talk until they mention the fallen; the heroes who sacrificed their lives. Her heart sinks in her chest.

She manages to keep the panic at bay as she finishes her speech. Her eyes always searching the crowd, for him, for them. Hackett takes her to the side when the formalities are finished, and when she looks into his eyes she knows. She can still hear the noise of the crowds, as he tells her.

“Shepard, wait – “ he calls after her, but she is already running, Hackett’s voice still rolling through her mind.

_“We found them Shepard, we found the Normandy”_

_She looks at him incredulously “I know” she says confusion setting in. She looks over her shoulder into the crowd, still looking for him._

_Hackett looks at her oddly “They’re dead, Shepard. There were no survivors.” He places a comforting hand on her shoulder like all those times before, but she is just shaking her head in disbelief._

In moments she is running.

She manages to stumble into the crowd, before her artificial leg catches up with her good one and she collapses to the ground. Her mind is swimming and she is vaguely aware of hands pulling at her, of the roar of the crowd, of the steady staccato of familiar machinery that is getting louder and louder. Her arms clutch tightly around her head trying to keep out the sound. Soon the clamour becomes a flat line of sound and everything goes dark.

* * *

She hides in the silence, eyes shut tightly to the world. It feels like hours, days, years, before she hears an all too familiar sound. It’s quiet at first, gradually getting louder, but this time there is a voice under the steady noise of the machines, it sounds so very far away, and she struggles to make out the words as it increasingly grows louder.

_Wake up, Shepard._

Long lashes part; a reflection of blue dances along the dark pupil of her eye in vivid clarity.


End file.
